


More than a Friend

by pipisafoat



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-07
Updated: 2008-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat





	More than a Friend

He stands on the opposite side of the court, racket held loosely in one hand. I can't even tell which hand it is now; he's been switching off all evening. His left hand is just as good as his right after all these years of playing. I don't know why he's playing at being a rich stiff, even after all these years. Even though I've known him plenty long enough to see through the act.

_There is no hiding around you, which is of course why I try so hard to pretend._

He tries to pretend in order to make me happy, just like he always has. He pretends I'm getting better at this game. Pretends I can hit a ball the same as he. Pretends it doesn't matter that I hit wild half the time. The important part is that I'm hitting it, he says. We can always work on my finesse later.

_Your timing has never been great, you know._

I want to get better at this, but it's not for myself. It's not because I think I'm getting out of shape. It's not because I actually want to play this game, because honestly, I think it's pretty boring, even if you're in on the action. I meet him every day to work on this because it's the only time he has in his schedule for me.

_It's just... I'm a busy man, Till. You can't expect me to drop everything on a moment's notice because you want to go get drunk together._

He wants me to be jealous of him, but I know the truth. His schedule is full of blocks like "Whining at the neighbor's dog" and "Writing sappy love notes to myself". He isn't doing anything, but he spends all his time locked away from the world anyway. Is it as he says, to remind himself of the true problems in life, or is it rather to remove himself from the conflicts in society? He can never escape.

_I don't want the same thing you do, you know. I can't be your little toy for when you get bored._

He doesn't understand what it means when I ask him to stay out longer when our scheduled 'lesson' is over. He wants to know when I'm going to give up on him. He claims he doesn't want anything from me, but I know better than that. He doesn't want what he thinks I'm after, but the truth is we both want the same thing. He craves nothing more than to stay longer, but he tries to deny himself to create and sustain the pain he thinks he needs to be creative. Real art comes from deeper than your created pain, Rich. One day, you'll understand that.

_Why do you always want me to go back to your place? I'm never going to give you what you want._

I don't ask him to hang around afterwards too often, but he ends up staying every time I ask because he just can't tell me no. Sometimes he fixes small parts of my game then, correcting my grip on the racket or the placement of my feet as I swing. Other times we go inside, do something different like lifting weights. He always tries to do more than he can, just like always. Pushing the limits, only this time instead of breaking down emotionally, he's trying to hurt himself physically as though it would help him. He should be grateful that I'm strong enough to grab the bar off his shoulders when his knees buckle.

_This is one battle you'll never win, okay?_

Today, I have a plan. As he swings his bag onto his shoulder, his cellular rings. I already know what the message will be. His apartment has been invaded by a wild animal and they haven't been able to capture it. Can he spend the night away from the building until the problem has been taken care of? Any damages will, of course, be compensated. I watch his face change as he listens, his plastic smile slowly melting in the heat of his anger.

_One day, you'll find out what it feels like to be on this side of the equation. Turning down a fan may be easy for us, but try saying no to a friend for months on end._

I once asked why he made himself smile whenever he answered the phone, no matter how he was really feeling. He told me that it helped him be ready for good news as well as bad, that he could take anything with a good humor with the right face. Finally, some proof that his method doesn't work - he's screaming at his building manager like it's the poor man's fault he can't go back to his apartment. Little does he know it is the man's fault for listening to me and my money.

_You can't buy everything you want, Till. You'll never buy me._

He turns to me, vaguely indicates that he needs a place to stay for the night. I look appropriately apprehensive as I agree, telling him he can crash on my couch just for tonight. He doesn't even bother to thank me as he curses at the phone one more time before closing it and throwing it almost violently back into his racket bag. His hand, swept dramatically in front of him, tells me to escort him to his temporary lodgings. The employee at the gate bids us a good evening only to be snarled at in misplaced anger. I tip him generously as Richard stalks to his car.

_If you knew the least thing about my life, you wouldn't tell me to do this. I'm not going to make myself miserable just for you._

He drives silently to my apartment, tapping his foot impatiently when the door doesn't unlock on the first try. As it swings open, I realize that he hasn't seen my new space, much smaller than the country home I prefer. He was the one who told me I should stay in the city when we're all working together, but his disapproval is evident as he walks through the three rooms. I point him towards the shower while ordering Chinese.

_Do you expect me to quit the only thing that relaxes me just because you did?_

I tell the delivery boy he can have a double tip if he'll go pick up a pack of cigarettes at the corner store before returning to his restaurant. By the time Richard is out of the shower, a lighter is next to his food, tacit permission to smoke in the apartment. The relief on his face is quickly replaced by suspicion as he realizes I must have bought them for him. If only he could realize that sometimes friends to do things because they want to.

_I can't trust your motives._

He stretches out on my bed to watch TV after we eat while I clean up the kitchen and myself. When I step out of the bathroom, pants on in an attempt to put him more at ease, he's already asleep. I carefully rearrange him on the mattress, pulling the sheet up to his bare chest, before slowly lowering myself to the opposite side of the bed. That couch isn't comfortable enough to sit on, much less sleep for an entire night. I reach out and brush the hair off his forehead, and he moves towards me, finally doing what he can never do when awake.

_I don't need your pity, sympathy, or whatever it is you're calling it these days. I can take care of myself._

When he wakes up the next morning, he doesn't scurry to the opposite side of the bed as I expected. He doesn't try to tell me I took advantage of him, either. His arms stay around my torso, one leg still hooked over my shins as though I'd tried to escape his grasp. He rests his chin on my chest, pulling my arms even tighter around him. A soft smile crosses his face as he pushes my bangs out of my eyes.

_Stop telling me I look like shit, Till. I don't want to take hours on my appearance every day._

I can see that he has finally realized the real reason I wanted him to come home with me. Sometimes a friend is mistaken for more.


End file.
